


Between Words and Actions Lies the Truth

by GinRyuu



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Language, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Slash, Rating May Change, Sexual Tension, Tags May Change, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinRyuu/pseuds/GinRyuu
Summary: While imprisoned on Asgard, Loki learns from Thor that Tony Stark has been injured and is not expected to survive. For reasons he does not want to look at too closely, the God of Mischief finds the idea of Tony dying intolerable and plots to escape Asgard and save the mortal.





	1. Intolerable

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Avengers. Early Iron Man 3 in only the loosest sense.

“Brother.”

“Thor.”

“I have brought you more books.” Thor held up two thick volumes then pushed them through the barrier of Loki’s cell and placed them on the floor. “I will bring you more when I return from Midgard.”

“A liaison with your human pet?”

“No,” Thor said. The disappointment and hurt that normally filled his eyes when he looked at Loki turned to mild disgust then shifted into something else. Was that sorrow? “If you must know, I go to sit vigil for Stark.”

“Stark?” Something uncomfortable settled in Loki’s stomach.

In his armor, Stark had fought and held his own against Thor. He might have even emerged victorious had Rogers not interceded. Unarmored, he had faced Loki himself with swagger and confidence barely tempered by wariness. Even being thrown through a window to presumably plummet to his death did not diminish Stark’s determination to prevail. He had ventured through the portal, carrying death to the Chitauri while somehow escaping with his own life.

“And how has this come about?” Loki asked, feigning calm he did not feel.

“Stark issued challenge to a villain of his world.”

 _Of course he did._ Loki thought. _The man has no regard for his own mortality._

“In response, Stark’s home was attacked and reduced to rubble within moments, burying Stark and damaging the device in his chest. The physicians did what they could once he was found, but an infection that defies their medicines has taken hold of him.”

Loki’s hands curled into fists during Thor’s recitation. Something like panic clawed at him. “Brother,” he said, despite the bitter taste of the word, hoping to soften Thor to his suggestion. “Take me with you.”

Thor frowned.

“Where their medicine has failed, my magic may succeed.”

Hope flickered across Thor’s face, but then he shook his head and said with genuine sorrow, “Would that I could, but Odin would never allow it.”

“Then appeal to mother.”

“Loki, she will not go against Father. You know this.”

“Thor, please.”

“I am sorry.”

With a yell of frustration, Loki struck the barrier.

Thor drew back a step, his surprise clear. “Why this sudden concern for Stark?”

Indeed, why did he care? Why should he care? What was the life of one mortal to him? With a mayfly’s lifespan, Stark was inconsequential. Why should the thought of him dying cause any distress?

“Loki?”

“I shall feel cheated if he dies by any means other than by my own hand,” Loki snarled.

“Brother.” Thor shook his head. “I fear you are hopeless.” He turned and walked away.

Loki watched him go, filled with a deep unease.

“Well, what now Reindeer Games?”

Loki whirled at the sound of the familiar voice. His breathing sped up, and he stared at what had to be an illusion conjured by his subconscious: Stark as he had appeared in the tower – snug shirt, tousled hair, an abrasion high on his left cheek, holding a glass of amber liquid. With slow steps and Stark’s brown eyes tracking him, Loki approached his unintended creation.

“So, what’s your play?” Stark sipped his drink, studying Loki over the rim of the glass.

Loki looked away, sifting through the feelings this image aroused, trying to understand them.

“What? No clever quip to remind me of my place? No grand pronouncement?”

Turning his gaze to Stark’s chest, Loki raised his hand to hover over the device concealed by Stark’s shirt. His hand was close enough that he should have felt the warmth of the other man’s body, but the illusion gave off no heat. A lump formed in Loki’s throat at the possibility that this version of Stark being the only one left to him.

“I thought you were a god.”

Loki’s eyes snapped to Stark’s. “I am a god, you pathetic wretch. If you think you shall escape me by dying, you are grievously mistaken.” He swung an arm through the illusion, dispelling it.

Turning in a tight circle, he glared at his surroundings and formulated a plan.

He would gain his freedom.

He would go to Midgard.

He would heal Stark.

Any other outcome was unacceptable.

~~~~~~

Three days.

It took three days.

Three days of unsleeping vigilance as he maintained the illusion of his Jotun form slumped against the wall, blood pooling from the soft underside of its arms and the top of its feet.

Three days of ignoring the meals that continued to be routinely delivered as he guided the illusion through the decaying process. The red eyes turned a clouded pink. The flesh became the palest blue as what blood remained within the corpse drained downward, pooling and purpling the flesh that touched the floor.

Three days of enduring the pain along his ribs where he had sliced himself with the broken glass that now lay near the corpse’s hand. His real blood mingled with the illusory to lend weight to his creation. It was a wound he could have easily healed, but he played a long game and using magic on something so minor before the conclusion would be a wasteful.

Three days of concealing himself from the eye of Heimdall and the All-Father, sitting statue still in the corner of his cell lest the slightest movement betray his true location.

The first guards to spy his handiwork were predictably startled. He felt a brief surge of hope that they would lower the barrier. Instead, one left to report to Odin, and the barrier remained intact. The revelation of the royal secret had not proven enough for anyone to enter the cell and test the illusion.

On the third day, his mother came in the company of a half dozen guards. As she studied the Jotun corpse, Loki held his breath, for he had learned magic at Frigga’s knee and should anyone be able to pierce his illusion, it would be her. The blood he had spilt, however, proved its worth, tears welled in his mother’s eyes. With a gesture, she lowered the barrier, and the guards entered the cell, moving to the illusion. As one bent to touch it, Loki moved.

He released his spell and tumbled from the cell. With consideration for his mother, he disabled rather than killed the guards, hitting them with a blast of raw, green energy.

“Loki.”

He faced his mother. She stood with her hands lightly clasped in front of her, her features caught between relief and dismay, but she made no move to stop him.

“Mother,” he said, raising a beseeching hand. “I must go to Midgard. Please.”

After studying him for a moment, with a soft smile, she said, “Then go.”

Loki’s breath caught at the blessing she bestowed with those two simple words. After a quick nod of thanks, he spun and raced down the hall, heading for one of the hidden ways off of Asgard. Needing to conserve his strength, he forewent cloaking himself in invisibility. The few he encountered between his cell and the path he needed were either wise enough to stay out of way or they fell to his blades in all too brief skirmishes that barely gave outlet to the bottled frustration and anxiety that had eaten at him since Thor had delivered the news of Stark.

It was only upon arriving on Midgard that Loki realized that he did not know where Stark was, and tracking him through the device’s unique energy signature was no longer an option. However, Stark’s fame worked in Loki’s favor. The media provided regular updates on Iron Man’s condition, and Loki quickly came to believe that every human on the planet knew Stark’s location.

Security at the hospital was tight but designed to keep out other humans. It was not prepared for someone of Loki’s abilities. He found it a simple matter to change his guise, borrowing one likeness after another until he reached Stark’s room. The only harrowing part of the process consisted of sidling through members of the Avengers who gathered outside the final security door for the floor. He noted Thor’s absence and wondered at it, but being so close to his goal, he did not dwell on it.

Disguised as one of the physicians charged with Stark’s care, he reached to open the door to Stark’s room. It withdrew from his seeking hand, and Loki found himself facing Thor. Surprised, Loki nearly panicked, nearly forgot the illusion that concealed him – to be so close – but no recognition showed on Thor’s face as he clapped a heavy hand to Loki’s shoulder and in solemn tones requested that Loki do everything within his power to help his friend Stark.

“I intend to,” Loki said in an altered voice.

“My thanks,” Thor replied with a weary, shallow smile before walking away.

Loki entered Stark’s room. Seeing no one else within, he closed the door behind him and sealed it with magic in the absence of a lock. He crossed to the bed. His shoulders lowered as the relief of finding the man still alive washed over him, but the sensation was quickly crushed as the reality of the situation presented itself.

Looking small and frail in the bed, his complexion pallid with a thick bandage where the device once was, Stark had numerous machines connected to him via wires and tubes that attach to his hands and chest and fed into his mouth. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest synchronized with one of the machines.

Loki placed a hand on Stark’s shoulder and frowned at the heat emanating from the man. He ground his teeth as the tendril of magic he sent through Stark revealed how ravaged the man’s body was from injury and infection.

This was not going to be easy.

It was going to take time without interruption.

And the machines…

He went to the door and pushed aside the blinds to peer out the embedded window. Not spying Thor or any of the other Avengers in close proximity, he opened the door and summoned a nurse to his side. Drawing her into the room, Loki placed a charm on her, dropped his own disguise, and said, “I need you to explain to me what each of these machines does.”

~~~~~

Finding his way out of the darkness may have taken minutes, might have taken hours or days, Tony couldn’t say. He just knew that it was a struggle to open his eyes, and when he did, he almost immediately regretted it. He squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights and took in his surroundings – the rails on the bed with their various buttons and the collection of monitors surrounding him. As he registered the machines’ dormant state, the idea that he might be dead crossed his mind.

“You’re awake,” said a familiar, velvet voice.

Tony’s attention veered toward the chair on the far side of the room. Alarm skated through him at the sight of who sat there.

“Loki.” His voice came out rough, and, dear god, his throat felt raw. He needed water.

“Stark,” the God of Mischief returned with a slight inclination of his head and a hint of a smile.

Amend that, he needed something much stronger than water.

Never looking away from Tony, Loki stood with a dancer’s grace and approached the bed.

Tony tried to retreat, pushing deeper into the bed. He raised a hand to the arc reactor, but instead found nothing but flesh. He looked down in shock.

“Do you recall what happened?”

The gentle tone of the inquiry surprised him. One corner of his mind screamed warnings of the threat Loki posed and the need to watch him carefully, to monitor every nuance of his words and gestures, but Tony didn’t look away – couldn’t look away – from his chest. Applying pressure, he felt his ribs and sternum, tender but whole again under smooth, scar-free skin.

“I gather the device shattered.” Tony’s gaze flew to Loki’s. “It caused quite a bit of damage. Although, I would argue the surgeons did just as much damage based on what I saw. I would have expected a man of your stature to have better physicians at his beck and call.” Loki rolled something between his thumb and forefinger as he spoke. He now held it up for Tony’s inspection.

A sliver of glass. No larger than a broken pencil lead, but depending on where it had lodged…

“You were also deep within the grip of an infection when I arrived. One that defied your Midgardian medicines.” The smugness of his tone and the pleased look in his eye allowed Tony to finally put together why Loki stood in his room.

“You healed me.”

A nod. A gesture that vanished the glass shard.

“I owe you.” He hadn’t meant to say it. Saying it gave weight to Loki’s claim. Not that he could really deny one. Not that it was likely Loki would have let him deny it. Still, he hadn’t meant to say it.

“Have no doubt,” Loki began with a tight smile that was far from the gleeful one Tony would have expected, “I expect recompense for the price of my escape from Asgard. But what price shall you place upon your life? How shall we assess its value?”

“Escape?”

One of Loki’s eyebrows rose.

“They didn’t let you…? Thor didn’t…?”

The brow lowered, and his eyes narrowed. A storm gathered in his eyes.

“And what did it cost you?” Tony asked in hushed tone.

“My blood.”

Tony winced. Blood?

“And three days. Without sleep or sustenance. The revelation of a secret and constant vigilance against those who might see through my ruse.”

“Why? Why go through all of that for me?”

“Perhaps, I find the thought of an existence without you intolerable,” Loki offered in an overly sweet voice and with a mocking smile.

“Wow. If I didn’t know better, I might take that as some sort of confession.”

“Or perhaps,” he said, his eyes narrowing and his voice dropping into a lower timber that reached inside Tony and chilled him. “I want the pleasure of being solely responsible for putting you in your grave.”

Yeah. That sounded more likely. Damn. Where was the team? Thor? Rogers? Hell, he’d even be happy to see Barton walk into the room. Actually, Clint might be the best choice considering the man’s hatred for Loki.

Tony moved to sit up. If he was going to negotiate the value of those three days and for his life, he wasn’t going to do it from flat on his back. What price would Loki ask of him? A cash settlement wasn’t likely to appeal to him.

Loki’s hand on his chest stopped Tony’s movement. It rested where the reactor should have been. If the admittedly, surprisingly, gentle pressure Loki applied hadn’t compelled Tony to return to a reclining position, then the sharp anger in the Trickster’s eyes as he leaned over Tony would have. Hell, if he could have fallen through the bed and maybe the floor, or floors, below and escaped the hard glint he saw there, he would have done so. But seriously, where was the team? He’d welcome a little help about now.

Loki slid his hand up Tony’s chest and then curled it around his neck. It was loose, not the punishing grip of the Tower, but Tony raised his chin in an instinctive submissive gesture. He ground his teeth at it. Wished he hadn’t done it, but the fury in Loki’s eyes dampened a bit. So, good in the short term, but possibly bad in the long term?

Loki’s thumb moved along his jaw. It rasped in the new growth. He held Tony’s gaze and spoke in a near purr. “It is only by reminding myself that you stood in Death’s shadow a short while ago that I am able to restrain my impulse to extract payment now, my little mortal.”

Tony swallowed at the use of the possessive.

“As I have saved your life, it now belongs to me, and I require you to proceed with a modicum of caution. Should you behave so recklessly again, I will cage you for your own protection.”

Ensnared in Loki’s eyes, Tony said the first thing that came to mind, “I’m surprisingly turned on.”

Loki’s eyes went wide.

“Yeah, that probably wasn’t the appropriate response…” Tony’s voice faded away as he watched Loki’s slow smile form and something that could only be described as wicked pleasure fill his eyes. Without thinking, Tony bit his bottom lip then released it with a ragged exhalation.

Loki’s pupils dilated in response. His hand moved to Tony’s cheek then slid to the back of Tony’s head, long fingers threading through his hair, as the god drew closer.

Tony’s eyes fell shut. He half expected the god to pull away, to laugh and mock Tony for his clear arousal, but then he felt the soft press of Loki’s lips to his own.

Once.

Twice.

Then, with the third, Loki deepened the kiss.

Tony couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped him as one form of tension left him, allowing him to relax under the god’s skilled ministrations, and another far more pleasant tension began to build. Uncertain how his touch would be taken, he fisted his hands in the sheet to keep himself from reaching up and pulling Loki to him, but he returned Loki’s kiss with fervor.

Dimly, Thor’s voice registered on Tony’s consciousness.

Loki ended the kiss, but remained near enough that their breaths mingled.

Something banged on the door.

Tony caught a glimmer of green out of his peripheral vision.

The door swung open.

“Loki!” the God of Thunder, well, thundered.

Tony’s attention remained fixed, however, on the god who hovered over him, who ran a thumb over his undoubtedly swollen lips, who smiled at him and looked at him with the mischief he was known for as he spoke low for Tony alone -“Until next time, Anthony.”- then disappeared in the swirl of green magic.

“Stark,” Thor said in a strangled voice.

Tony looked over, took in Thor’s stricken look, and looked away. He pulled the sheet up over his chest and rubbed a hand over his face.

More members of the team pushed past Thor and into the room.

Tony closed his eyes and tuned them out.

He could still feel Loki’s lips pressed to his own.

He’d kissed the god, and he’d liked it.

He was in so much trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I do hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I had intended this to be a one shot, but plot bunnies abound. I do have the next chapter ready to go. Everything after that is a tangled mess in need of edits and rewrites, however, and real life has been grueling as of late. Ideally, in my mind, I will be at least a few chapters ahead with writing before posting. In other words, I can't make promises for when I will be updating. My apologies.
> 
> Edit (7/13): I named the chapter because I personally find it easier to keep track of the story that way. I've also corrected a couple of typos.


	2. Isolated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's healed, but S.H.I.E.L.D. hasn't let him return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been added. The rating has gone up just to be safe.

Tony stood at the window, looking past his reflection to the city beyond and his tower lit up like a beacon in the night in the distance.

_That’s where I should be._

But Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D., same thing, whatever, after a quick battery of tests to confirm that Tony was indeed healed and whole again, a now “classified” wonder of medicine, had shuffled him out of the hospital and transported him cross country with Rogers and Thor as escorts to an “undisclosed, secure location,” as the media was reporting it. Their reports suggested that he had been moved to seek specialized treatment because of his critical condition and omitted the “security breach” named Loki; no doubt they had not been informed of that angle.

He had protested. He had argued for a return to the Tower as the more secure option.

They had offered weak-assed counter arguments that Dum-E could have dismantled.

In the end, Rogers had pleaded in his ever earnest way, his baby blues practically bleeding with concern, “Please, Tony. Just for a little while. Just until we can get a handle on the situation.”

 _They think I’ve been compromised._ The realization had hit him hard in that moment. _They’re trying to isolate me. Keep me isolated,_ he had corrected himself, panic edging into his mind as his current situation had crystallized. He still had his implants but no arc reactor to power a suit. He had no access to J.A.R.V.I.S. Not even a phone to call Pepper or Rhodey. They had sent the Super Soldier and the God of Thunder to corral him, a mere mortal armed now only with wit and charm. Admittedly, he possessed an abundance of both, but the odds were not in his favor.

He would have found it flattering if he hadn’t felt the shivers of fear clawing through his gut.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I,” he had said and watched as Rogers winced.

Thor had just stood there, looking unusually pensive. How much he had seen or heard, what he might have suspected to have happened with Loki, Tony had no clue and couldn’t bring himself to ask. Not then. Not under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s watchful eyes. And no opportunity had presented itself since.

So, here he was, here he had been for a week, stuck in that damn cave again despite it appearing as a posh, penthouse suite with a well-stocked, if sub-par bar. Apparently some vices were to be encouraged now.

He was vulnerable.

Exposed.

Helpless.

Isolated in a location only known to a small circle of people.

He had a television to give him news of the outside world, but he had no way to reach it. The room’s only phone was an archaic rotary device that diverted all calls to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents monitoring him.

If they decided he was now a threat, if they decided he was of no further use…

He could easily disappear, no, die from “unforeseen complications” and no one would be the wiser.

He tasted bile at that truth and chased it with a mouthful of his drink. He closed his eyes and rubbed his chest, working his fingers into his still tender sternum.

His thoughts turned to Loki as they often did in quiet moments. And, let’s face it, he had no shortage of quiet moments at the moment.

“What does he want from you?” Fury had asked more than once, demanding an answer Tony couldn’t provide, and, backed into a corner, Tony had claimed confusion and disorientation upon waking to find Loki in his room. He had stubbornly kept most of the conversation to himself despite knowing it fed into their fears that Loki had messed with his head.

No matter how many times he replayed the hospital scene, The Encounter in his mind, he still couldn’t understand why the crazy bastard had bothered with saving his life. From what the mage had said, breaking out of Asgard’s prison had been no easy undertaking. Surely, the lunatic had other things to do, other mischief to manage. Why take the time to save a _mortal,_ a recent adversary if not enemy? What made him worth the effort?

Tony walked to bar and refilled his glass. Wrapped in his thoughts, he wandered to the couch and sank into its cushy depths. Glass held loose and balanced on his thigh, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

His thoughts of Loki had begun to follow him into his dreams. It was one of those dreams that had him up at 3 a.m. working on his third drink. Thinking now on the dream itself, he wondered what kind of crazy he was.

Running scenarios wasn’t new for him. Having them carry over into memorable dreams was maybe less frequent but not new either. He found it disturbing, however, that his brain had decided to play the “what if” game with Loki’s hospital visit.

What if Thor and the other Avenger’s hadn’t interrupted?

What if the God of Mischief hadn’t stopped at a kiss but had lived up to his title and made mischief?

What if he had climbed into Tony’s bed? Magicked their clothing away? Not that Tony had been wearing much to begin with.

And here his brain presented two scenarios…

What if Tony had found himself face down on the bed, wrapped up from behind? With Loki biting his neck and shoulders just hard enough to mark Tony as his? Murmuring his possessive threats as their bodies came together?

Or, what if instead, Loki straddled Tony, moved that lithe body over his while Tony’s fingers curled into the god’s narrow hips?

 _Or what if both?_ He thought now because both could be good. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as the implication of that thought struck home. _I’m screwed._ He winced at the questionable word choice, but there was no denying his attraction to the crazy god who had threatened to take over the world, who had saved his life.

He took a drink before standing and returning to the window.

He had come out of the dream sweaty, breathing unsteadily, hard and frustrated with no ready outlet because he was not giving S.H.I.E.L.D. a show by taking himself in hand.

They claimed there were no cameras in the bedroom or bathroom. He didn’t believe them. Besides, there were always mics.

He felt again J.A.R.V.I.S.’s absence. His AI would be able to disable the system or verify what they told him.

He lifted the glass to his lips again and paused mid-motion as a play of light meshed with his reflection just right to create the illusion of the arc reactor still glowing in his chest.

He had been debating having the surgery necessary to remove it. Fate, no circumstance. Fuck Fate. He didn’t buy into Fate. Circumstance had taken the decision out of his hands, and he wasn’t happy about it. Yeah, there had been discomfort. Sometimes pain. He had had a device buried in his chest. How could there not be issues? But the warmth and barely discernible hum and vibration, he missed that background noise and the feeling of security.

He shifted his weight, dispelling the illusion, but his hand rose to his chest and prodded it.

Damn, but Loki had worked a magic miracle. Ribs and sternum. Not 3D-printed replacements or some sort of plates, but actual bone and cartilage. Muscles restored.

He owed the Trickster.

What price he would be asked to pay, he couldn’t begin to imagine.

His thoughts once more dwelling on Loki, he spread his hand over his chest much as Loki’s had done. He moved the glass that had hovered near his lips closer, but instead of taking a drink, he brought the back of his thumb to his lips and remembered the feel of Loki’s kiss.

“Stark?”

Tony jumped. His drink sloshed in his glass. He spun to see Natasha standing behind him.

“Romanov. Where did you come from? Why are you here? Do you have any idea what time it is? It’s 3 a.m. No, probably closer to four now. Did you knock?”

“Heard you were awake. Thought I’d drop by.” She studied him through narrowed eyes. “Trouble sleeping?”

He rolled his eyes, finished his drink, and headed to the bar. Glancing back at her, he asked, “Want one?”

“No,” she said with a slight frown. “How many of those have you had?”

“This is number four.” He held up the glass in a mock toast before downing half the contents.

She crossed her arms and gave him a disapproving look.

“What? I drink. It’s not a secret. Even non-spies can tell you that.”

She raised an eyebrow, and the corner of her mouth may have twitched in the hint of a smile. She walked toward him. “Do you want to talk about why you’re up and emptying the bar at this time of night?”

“Not really.” He drained the glass. “And is it night? Or is it morning? I mean, it’s dark, so that says night, but the clock says morning with the whole a.m. thing. I suppose I should go with night as it makes the drinking more socially acceptable.” He reached for the bottle to refill his glass, and maybe the alcohol was hitting his system harder than he realized because he added, “If you must know, a dream woke me up. You’d know something about that, I imagine.”

She made a noncommittal noise, but her eyes widened a fraction, and something soft appeared within them. Sympathy? Understanding? He wasn’t sure. She was hard to read. “Want to talk about it? It helps sometimes.”

The gentle understanding that laced her offer tempted him to confide, to talk about the things that filled his nightmares and maybe ask her what her take was on Loki saving his life. Then, he reminded himself that he was being monitored by S.H.I.E.L.D., and despite whatever camaraderie they shared, Natasha was Fury’s creature. Whatever he said would surely be noted, filed away, and possibly be used against him later, and that was the best case scenario. If Fury decided Tony was no longer of sound mind, well, his own sound mind and not of a Loki mind, and therefore too much of a liability, Natasha might be the one sent to take care of him. He liked to think she wouldn’t be happy about it, might feel a twinge of genuine grief, but he didn’t delude himself that she would carry out the order. Which would be worse? Killed by an anonymous assassin or one he knew? With Natasha he was certain death would come so quick that he wouldn’t know what had happened until he reached whatever afterlife might be out there. Not that he was a believer of such per se, but after meeting members of the Norse pantheon, the question was back on the table.

Damn, he was turning maudlin.

“Thanks for the offer,” he said. “I’m good. But, perhaps we could talk about how long you plan to keep me here like some sort of sacrificial offering to the Loki?”

She gave an indelicate snort.

He flashed her a conspiratorial grin over his shoulder then returned his attention to pouring his drink. “But, seriously, Romanov, how long? We both know that, assurances to the contrary, you can’t keep me safe here.” He emptied the bottle, filling the glass to the rim. “If Loki wants me dead, I’ll be dead before the first agent reaches the door. I’d have a better chance in the Tower.”

 _We’ll call this five and six,_ he thought reaching for the glass.

A pale, long-fingered hand that was definitely not Natasha’s settled on his forearm, slid down to his wrist, and wrapped around it, stopping him with a firm but gentle touch.

“I will remind you,” Loki said, placing his other hand between Tony’s shoulder blades and speaking against his ear. “That I require you to proceed with caution where your well-being is concerned. I admit I had something else in mind when I issued my initial warning, however, I think drinking in excess, especially in the midst of potential enemies, should fall well within the category of things to avoid.”

Tony relaxed his arm, letting his hand rest on the bar, but Loki didn’t release his wrist.

“Natasha?” he asked with an unsteady voice, keeping eyes fixed on the now out of reach drink because it was safer than looking at Loki’s hand and letting his mind wander down the “what if” path again.

“Never here,” Loki replied, mimicking the assassin’s voice.

“You know, they’ll be on their way,” Tony said, happy to hear his voice was a little steadier even if his breathing and heartrate were going in the opposite direction.

“Of course they will, but you have already noted how pointless their presence is.” The hand on Tony’s back moved to his neck, and Loki shifted closer until Tony’s shoulder brushed his chest. “I could kill you,” he said in a contemplative purr, tightening his grip, but then his thumb moved in an almost soothing gesture along the column of Tony’s neck. “Fortunately for you, I have never had a taste for human sacrifice made in my name.” His hand slid down Tony’s spine then moved around to rest on his hip. “But, if I did, you would meet my approval.”

Tony made a strangled sound and twisted to face the god which meant that his back came into full contact with the mage’s arm, and he found himself nose to nose with Mischief incarnate. _Think of New York. Remember what Loki’s done,_ he reminded himself, trying to tamp down his attraction.

It didn’t work.

The merriment in Loki’s eyes, the delicate crinkling around them that revealed the smile Tony was too close to properly see, captured him, held him, as thoroughly as the mage’s actual touch. Loki leaned closer, and Tony’s eyes fell shut as the god’s cheek brushed against his own and rested there, preventing Tony from turning away. Not that he wanted to escape the god’s unconventional embrace. He probably should want to, but he didn’t. He did hope, however, that telepathy wasn’t one of the Trickster’s skills. The way he was relaxing into the taller man’s hold was telling enough. He didn’t need his thoughts revealing even more.

“Why are you still here, Stark? I broke free of my prison. When will you break free of yours?”

“I’m sorry?” Tony mumbled, more focused on the feel of Loki’s lips brushing over his skin as he spoke and the delicious little shivers it was sending through him than the words he had uttered.

Loki nipped his earlobe, and Tony groaned as the shivers turned into a shudder of pleasure. The god chuckled and murmured something that sounded like “ridiculous creature.” He then drew back, and, when Tony attempted to follow him, he pinched the engineer’s side.

“Hey,” Tony protested.

“Focus, Stark. You have been declared to be a genius by your fellow humans.” The god’s arched brow suggested he called their judgement into question. “Why have you let them hold you here?” His brow furrowed then. “Was your mind damaged in some manner?”

Tony scowled at him. “Look, Reindeer Games.” Loki’s eyes narrowed at the appellation. “In case it escaped your notice, they have me on the top floor of a rather tall building, and I have no idea how many floors below me they control or how many agents are waiting to drag me back here. And they—” Tony stopped and looked toward the short entrance hall. “Where are they anyway?”

“Just on the other side of the door and one wall, trying to find a way into your rooms. There has also been some movement in the airways.”

“Really?”

Releasing Tony’s wrist, Loki held his palm out in a sort of one-handed shrug. “The spell that keeps them out also blocks sound.”

“And the cameras?” Tony asked, suddenly aware of how damning the footage of the last few minutes would appear to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s eyes.

“I believe you would say they have been thoroughly fried. Please, Stark, give me some credit.” Loki looked down his nose at the shorter man, all elegant disdain. “Disabling their surveillance equipment was the first thing I did upon arriving. They arrived at your door before I revealed myself.”

“Forgive me, your Highness, for questioning you.” Tony smirked and placed his now free hand to his chest. He batted his eyes at the god for good measure. It earned him a scowl, but he didn’t miss the way Loki preened a bit at being addressed as the Prince he was. Or had been. Might still be for all Tony knew of Asgardian politics.

“You were explaining, mortal…”

Tony rolled his eyes at that but said, “They took away my tech.”

“Are you truly so helpless without your toys?”

Tony bristled at the disappointment in Loki’s eyes, stung more than he cared to admit. On impulse, he took hold of the mage’s wrist. Surprise flickered across Loki’s features at the contact, but he made no move to pull away. Holding his gaze, Tony said, “Tech is my magic.” Loki tilted his head clearly considering the idea. “They’ve done to me, what they did to you when they put those fancy Asgardian bracelets on you.”

“Ah, I see,” he said, comprehension smoothed his features, but then they took on a hard edge. Tony suspected it was the memory of being cut off from his magic that triggered it, but given the way Loki used the hand still on his hip to draw him nearer in an almost protective gesture made him wonder if some of the shadows he saw stirring in the mage’s eyes were on his behalf. It was a heady thought.

Tony slid his hand down over Loki’s and laced their fingers together. The action pulled Loki from his dark ruminations, and the look he gave Tony was surprisingly open. Until Tony began to smile, then the god looked wary.

“You’re my key for getting out of here,” Tony said as an idea took shape.

Loki raised a brow. “Do you wish me to steal you away?”

“No.” Tony laughed. “Oh god, no. Not that I don’t like the idea.” He really did like the idea. Loved it, actually. “But Fury and company would throw me in a hole that I would never get out off. Possibly one made of dirt and six feet deep.” All humor left Loki’s eyes, and Tony freed his hand from the god’s to place it on his chest. “Steady, there. Don’t go all murderous badass on me. Not yet, at least.” That earned him a scowl, and the fingers at his hip dug into him in a mildly painful reminder that he was only alive and still talking because the god hadn’t decided to throw him out another window with no suit to save him this time. “I have another idea. Are you game, Mischief?”

Interest filled Loki’s eyes, and with a devious smile, he asked, “What did you have in mind?”

“A little performance art. Something to convince our audience that we’ll never be anything but bitter enemies.”

“And what makes you think that that is not exactly what we are?” he asked in an arch tone.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Tony’s fingers curled under a strap of Loki’s armor and tugged. “The kisses in the hospital. The flirting. The fact that you’ve been wrapped around me since stopping me from taking a drink.”

A mask slid over Loki’s face, and Tony could feel him withdraw mentally. His hand left Tony’s hip, and he reached up to remove Tony’s hand from where it was entangled in the god’s armor. Then, he fisted a hand in Tony’s shirt, pulling him up and forward until he was off balance.

Tony swallowed. Uncertainty and, perhaps, a long overdue twinge of alarm forced their way into his thoughts.

“Second thoughts?” Loki mocked.

“It’s just that you did such a good job putting me back together, I’m not really looking forward to getting pummeled.”

“I promise the damage to you will be minimal.” The god leaned close. His eyes filled with something intense that Tony didn’t understand. “Trust me.”

The engineer’s shoulders relaxed, releasing tension he hadn’t realized was there. Holding the god’s gaze he nodded.

Loki looked at him with wonder. “You are such a surprise.”

Then, the mage whipped Tony around and slammed him against the wall, shattering the glass and cracking the frame of a piece of generic art. The god towered over him, forcing Tony to crane his neck back to see his face. Loki raised an eyebrow as if to ask, “Well?”

Ignoring the agents pouring into the room, and their harsh shouts at Loki to step away from him and surrender, Tony did a quick assessment.

Startled? Yes.

Turned on by the manhandling and dominance? Absolutely, god help him.

Injured? No. Not in the least.

He grinned at Loki.

The god returned it with a megawatt, shit-eating grin of his own.

One of the agents got trigger happy, and a bullet hit the wall uncomfortably close to Tony’s head. Several others ricocheted off of whatever magic barrier Loki had wrapped around himself.

Both men looked at the bullet hole with disgust. Even as someone was yelling to hold fire or else they might hit Stark.

Loki threw an arm behind him, unleashing a green wave of magic that knocked over Tony’s would be saviors like a bunch of bowling pins. “Stark, you need to reconsider your allies.”

“I’ll take that under advisement. Have anyone in mind?”

“Has anyone told you that you are quite mad?”

“Frequently.”

“Until next time,” Loki said with laughter in his eyes, and then he tensed in preparation for the next act in their drama.

“About that,” Tony said, delaying the god’s movement. “No disguises, okay. Just, come as you.”

“Oh, have no worries on that account. When I come for you, Anthony, you will know it is me,” the god said in a low purr that curled around Tony, making him feel like Loki had run his hands up, down, and over him.

Before Tony could recover from the images the words inspired, Loki hurled him over the bar and across the room. A cocoon of magic protected him from the impact as he hit the wall then landed hard on the floor. He looked over to see the god deflecting attacks, glowering, and putting on a supervillain show.

 _Diva,_ Tony thought as he grabbed the gun of a downed agent. He climbed to his feet and edged toward the door.

Loki’s eyes found his, and Tony winked at him. The god rolled his eyes, launching one more sweeping attack, then disappeared.

Tony followed suit, heading for the nearest stairwell. To his relief, only a couple of agents appeared and tried to detain him, but he waved the gun like a crazed man, yelled about Loki and people needing medical attention, and pushed his way past them. He raced down the stairs as quickly as he could, putting his newly restored lung capacity to the test. Even after exiting the building he didn’t slow his pace, seeking to put as much distance between himself and S.H.I.E.L.D. as possible. When he was several blocks away, he spied a restaurant with a sign proclaiming it was open 24 hours. He ducked inside and asked to borrow a phone. He tapped out the number, and the line was picked up before the first ring finished.

“Sir?”

“Hey, J.A.R.V.I.S.”


	3. Thor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor reflects on the past and has conversations with Bruce and Tony.

When he returned to Asgard after his banishment, Thor had been angry.

Confused and wounded by Loki’s betrayal – his lie about Odin’s death, the attempt kill him with the Destroyer – the time between his ascent to the Golden City and being suspended over the side of the shattered Bifröst was a blur of heated words and impulsive actions. His terror at seeing Loki dangling beneath him, his horror as his brother _let go_ to fall into the emptiness of the Void – that remained burned into his memory with aching clarity.

Over their shared grief, his mother told him what had transpired during his absence.

He learned of Loki’s heritage. It shocked him. It pained him, but knowing the truth did nothing to shake his love for Loki who remained, in Thor’s mind and in his heart, his beloved, little brother.

He learned that Loki’s ascension to the throne had been legitimate, endorsed by the Council and encouraged by his mother. The actions of Heimdall, Sif, and the Warriors Three within that context became something that was, possibly, unforgivable for Thor. His affection for them wanted to label it, at worst, petty spite that _might_ have been necessary to safeguard Asgard. His sense of honor called it treason, and he wondered if their rebellion had been the catalyst to drive a fragile Loki to his end. The lack of a rebuke from the All-Father left him conflicted, caught between relief and dissatisfaction. How had their actions differed from his own unsanctioned trip to Jotenheim?

How he wished during those early days of mourning to be able to sit and speak with Loki. He had questions he would pose his brother. So many questions. Although he feared the answers because they would likely confirm what he suspected; he had failed his brother. Time and time and again. Over the course of their lives. Failed him in ways he had seen only after Loki was gone and no one, save their mother, shared Thor’s sorrow. Not even Odin in any discernable way.

The drunken tales told by his friends in “remembrance” of Loki far too often painted Thor as the hero and Loki in a less than favorable manner, diminishing his contributions and deriding his skills. They mocked his magic as mere tricks, and with anguished realization, Thor remembered doing the same before his almost coronation, during what would prove to be one of his last moments with his brother. The stories became sand scouring raw skin. He both dreaded and welcomed them for exposing his own callousness.

Of his companions, only Fandral noticed his discomfort and refrained from such reminiscences. One night, when the others had slumped into unconsciousness after too much mead, Fandral offered the only toast yet uttered in Thor’s presence in Loki’s honor.

“To Loki whose keen intellect and magic undoubtedly saved us from more than we shall ever know,” he said. Tapping his flagon to Thor’s, Fandral continued in a soft voice tinged with sorrow, “May he find peaceful rest.”

In the following years, Thor missed that intellect, especially during Council sessions where his brother had once provided insight and used his silver tongue to sway difficult parties or smooth negotiations, and he missed the simplest of Loki’s spells that would create small bursts of chaos that would alleviate tensions or bring a too long session to an end. Many times, when called upon to speak on a matter, he found himself listening for his brother’s voice, in the hope of guidance, and at times he almost heard him. Likewise, occasions arose when he would ask himself what Loki would do in the same situation; the answers that sprang to mind lightened his heart even if he found himself unable to act upon them because he lacked the right magic.

If the time of losing Loki had been confusing, the time of his return was even more so. The heartache of finding him so changed, of leading an unknown army against Midgard outpaced the relief and joy of discovering he lived.

Loki was not himself during the invasion, but he seemed more like the man Thor had known when they returned to Asgard; his carriage and energy felt more familiar to times past.

Thor visited him in his cell when he was able, but his brother remained aloof to his attempts to understand what had happened and rebuffed efforts at reconciliation. Whatever secrets Loki held, he was not sharing them with Thor. When exactly had his brother stopped trusting him with his secrets? Thor added that knowledge to the growing list of evidence that he had failed Loki.

“I’m sorry. Am I boring you?” Director Fury’s voice cut through Thor’s thoughts.

Used to such biting remarks being directed to his shield brother, Thor’s eyes went to the seat Stark normally claimed, forgetting the man had refused to attend the meeting, had refused any but Banner or himself entrance to the Tower as Loki was unlikely to mimic them.

“Thor,” Fury snapped.

“Forgive me, Director Fury. My mind was on other matters.”

“Is your psychopathic brother running around loose on my planet not a big enough concern for you?”

The storm that always sat just beneath Thor’s skin quickened, licks of energy hovered, ready to spark and strike. He understood the humans’ dislike of his brother – their anger was not without cause – but their blatant disrespect and derision tried his patience. “While it most certainly is a concern, it is not my only one. My responsibilities extend beyond Midgard.”

“Would you like to share with us what these other, more pressing concerns are?”

“They are nothing that need trouble you.”

“Apparently they are if I can’t have you focused here.”

“Director,” Thor said, allowing the rumble of thunder to echo in his voice. “As I am sworn to protect this realm, I share your worry over Loki. I would remind you, however, that I attend these meetings as a courtesy to my shield brothers and sister. Not for you.”

A tense silence fell over the group as Thor stared down Fury who eventually took a step back and looked away.

Captain Rogers cleared his throat. “Thor, have you heard anything else from Asgard?”

“No,” he said, his eyes still locked on Fury.

“So we still don’t know how he escaped,” Agent Romanov mused.

“I will ask when I return to Asgard,” he said, turning his attention to her. “But I doubt the information will be relevant.”

“Perhaps not,” she said. “Unless he had help.”

“No one would go against the All-Father in such a manner.” _Except Loki himself._

“Are we even sure he’s still on Earth?” Banner asked from where he stood by the door, his arms wrapped around himself in a gesture of either self-comfort or self-restraint.

“I’m pretty damn sure he’s still on Earth,” the Director growled.

“Why?” Banner pressed the issue. “He saved Tony, but things have been quiet otherwise, haven’t they?”

Thor felt a surge of gratitude for the man’s astute questions and the reminder that Loki was not the complete villain people would have him be.

“He also helped Stark escape from S.H.I.E.L.D. custody,” Agent Barton remarked, drawing sharp looks from both Director Fury and Agent Romanov.

“‘Escape from S.H.I.E.L.D. custody?’ Why would Tony need to escape from S.H.I.E.L.D. custody?” The edge in Banner’s voice caused all of the humans to tense and turn toward him.

“Agent Barton misspoke, Dr. Banner,” Fury said in a conciliatory tone.

“Did he?” Banner challenged, his arms tightening around himself and his chin tipping upward.

“Yes, Dr. Banner.” Condescension filled Fury’s voice as he tried to placate the scientist. “I assure you there was nothing nefarious involved. We wanted to make sure Loki hadn’t tried any form of mind control and placed Stark under observation. That’s all.”

Looking doubtful, Banner turned his irritated gaze on the Captain who looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Steve?”

Rogers’ blue eyes briefly met Thor’s, but then he looked away with a frown. When he spoke his tone was firm but almost hesitant. “Tony was in a penthouse suite of a hotel. Not a cell.”

Some of the tension eased from Banner’s frame, but he looked to Thor for confirmation.

“What Captain Rogers says is true,” Thor said, holding Banner’s gaze. Whatever tension began to ease from the group snapped back into place as he continued. “However, for all of the comfort, I believe it was no less a cell.”

“Thor,” Rogers protested.

“Can you deny it?” Thor challenged, staring at his shield brother.

Rogers lowered his eyes and sat back in his seat, a deep frown wrinkled his brow.

“Fury?” The rough note in Banner’s voice warned that his patience was wearing thin.

“Dr. Banner. Thor,” the Director said, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward. “I don’t think either of you appreciate how much of a potential threat Tony Stark is. We need to know if he’s been compromised.”

“Compromised.” The scientist ducked his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he raised his head, he looked a little green. “And if _you_ decided he was, what then?”

“He would have been dealt with,” Fury said, cold and uncompromising.

Banner went rigid.

“It’s my job to protect the world, Dr. Banner. From _all_ threats.”

“Yeah, I get that. I’m just not comfortable with you also being the one who decides what constitutes a threat.” The doctor turned and headed for the door.

Agent Romanov called to the man.

“No, Natasha,” he said without slowing, without turning back. “I’m done, and you really don’t want me to stay.”

“Wait, Banner, and I will accompany you,” Thor said, getting to his feet and taking Mjölnir in hand.

Banner paused in the doorway.

The Captain and Agent Romanov looked at him through narrowed eyes. One with confusion. One assessing.

“Thor,” Agent Barton’s voice echoed the surprise on his face.

“We’re not done here,” Fury said, loud and terse.

“But I, like the good doctor, am,” he said in his most pleasant court voice with a smile not unlike his brother’s. “I bid you all a good day and hope to see you when I return from Asgard.” Gesturing with Mjölnir and walking toward Banner, he said, “Lead on, my friend.”

The pair remained silent as they left the Triskelion.

Outside, Thor remained at Banner’s side, wanting to ensure that the man made it beyond S.H.I.E.L.D.’s easy reach. He doubted they could take the Hulk, but Banner himself seemed all too vulnerable. He followed the scientist’s lead for several minutes, crossing the river and heading toward the park like area with its many monuments, offering smiles and nods of greeting to those they passed.

“You’re going back to Asgard now?”

“Yes, but first I must visit our friend Stark.” At Banner’s quick look and raised brow, Thor said, “I owe him an apology for helping detain him as I did and would see how he fairs.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Hmm. I hope so, but I fear I have broken his trust.”

They wended their way through the tourist crowds. When they found themselves relatively alone again, their conversation resumed.

“I know we’re all on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s watch list,” Banner began, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But do you really think Tony capable of turning into some sort of supervillain?”

Thor gave the question some thought, thinking over the time he had spent with his shield brother during the past months. His fondness for the man warmed his voice despite the issue at hand. “Our friend, as he regularly reminds us, is a genius. He has vast resources and immense influence within this realm. Asgard regards him as a Prince of Midgard with status equal to my own and Loki’s.” Banner’s eyes widened at this news, prompting a deep chuckle from Thor. “Should this Prince of ours ever decide to become King, I have no doubt he could do so. Likely in a way that would have most of the populace willingly bowing before him.” For a heartbeat, Thor could easily envision such a scene, and more for himself than Banner he said, “Our friend, however, has a soft and generous heart.”

“Not many see that.”

“Sadly, they do not. I think that his heart will keep him from becoming the monster S.H.I.E.L.D. fears.” He frowned then. “Or rather, if he does become the threat they fear, it will of their own making.”

“Betrayal.”

“Aye. Or abuse and neglect. A heart can only take so many wounds.”

“You’re thinking of Loki.”

“They share many traits.”

“Such as…”

“Both are brilliant and masters of their craft. Their tongues can be as lethal as any weapon they wield. Both hide their true selves behind layers of masks, and few are allowed to see behind them. Even then they make you work for it, although I believe both welcome those who are willing to try.”

“I didn’t realize you had gotten to know Tony so well.”

“Upon my return after the Bifröst was repaired, Stark graciously offered me space within his home. Early on I discovered that should I take the time to seek him out, he is not adverse to company.”

“Even in his workshop?”

“Indeed,” he said with a smile. “Watching him work is mesmerizing and reminds me of watching Loki in the early days of his studies when he still allowed me to be present. It is soothing.”

“Thor, I know Fury has asked this a lot but…”

“Do I know what Loki wants from Stark?”

The scientist nods.

“Truly, I do not.” He had his suspicions, but he would not share them with any but Stark. “Despite my efforts to reach him, or perhaps because of them, Loki can be quite contrary after all, he rarely spoke to me while he was imprisoned. It was by chance that he asked about my purpose for coming here, and by chance that he learned of Stark’s situation. His response was unexpected.”

“Maybe he has a plan that requires Tony?”

Thor made a noncommittal sound. He suspected there was no plan at all. He suspected Loki had acted on impulse and continued to "play it by ear" as he had once heard Stark say. Indeed, remembering what he had seen in the hospital – his brother leaning close to Stark, both of them slightly flushed, their eyes locked on each other, Loki looking pleased, Stark looking dazed and breathing unsteadily, an intimate moment interrupted by his arrival – he suspected Loki’s motivation was purely personal in nature.

“Are you also returning to the Tower?” he asked Banner.

“I don’t know.”

“You would be welcomed. Stark often speaks of his science bro and keeps your rooms set aside for you.”

Banner chuckled.

“I could take you with me.” Thor gave the shorter man a wide smile.

With a full laugh and shaking his head, Banner said, “No. Thank you. I’ll make my own way there.”

“Excellent. I will tell Stark to expect you.”

“You know, it’s at times like this that I remember you’re related to the God of Mischief.”

“Why thank you, my friend. I take that as a great compliment,” Thor said, putting a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. He then stepped back, checked to be sure the area was clear, and began to swing his hammer. “Be careful, my friend, and safe travels.”

Banner nodded. “Tell Tony I’ll be there in a couple of days.”

“I will do so.” Lifting Mjölnir, he took to the sky.

Thor landed on the Tower’s helipad. As he approached the entrance to the common area for Stark’s guests and sometime residents, he worried that he might be denied entrance, but the door slid aside for him.

“Welcome back, Mr. Odinson.”

“Thank you. Is your master here?”

“He is.”

“I would speak with him if he is available.” _Willing._

“One moment, please.” The moment turned into several minutes. Thor felt certain that his request would be denied, but then J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke. “I am sorry for the delay, sir. Mr. Stark is currently on a call with Colonel Rhodes. He will join you at its conclusion which I believe will be soon.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, sir.”

Still unsure of his welcome, Thor waited near the wall of windows and looked out over the city rather than settle on the couch. He turned to the elevator at the sound of the doors opening and watched his shield brother emerge. Based on the way he was dressed and the grease that streaked his skin and clothes, Thor guessed he had been in his workshop. He was speaking with J.A.R.V.I.S. and continued his conversation as he exited, his gaze fixed on his left hand to which he alternately pressed and lifted a soiled cloth.

“Be sure to secure all of Maya’s work. Cast a wide net. Add anything relevant to my server then scrub the source. Just for fun, leave a trail suggesting S.H.I.E.L.D. is responsible and be sure to give their files an extra close look. It’s bad enough they’re still playing with Cap’s super serum.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s the status of A.I.M.’s acquisition?”

“Everything is place to move forward.”

“You’re the best, J.”

“As you made me to be, sir.” Stark’s fond smile for his creation faded when he focused on Thor. “Point Break.”

“Man of Iron,” Thor said, his voice low and solemn, and was happy to see the mortal’s mouth twitch as if to keep from smiling again. Perhaps, not all was lost here. “I have come to apologize. No matter their concerns, I should not have left you with S.H.I.E.L.D. as I did. I should have trusted you and seen you returned here, to your home.”

Thor almost started fidgeting as Stark’s brown eyes regarded him, hard and assessing, the rapid fire of his thoughts practically tangible to Thor’s perception. Some tension seemed to ease from the man’s shoulders as he came to a decision.

“Don’t sweat it, Thunderstruck. It all worked out,” Stark said, looking away and heading for kitchen before he had finished speaking.

“Thank you, my friend,” Thor said as he followed him.

He watched as the inventor rummaged through the cabinets until he found a first aid kit; he seemed to have them throughout the Tower. Setting the kit next to the sink, he turned on the water. As he removed the cloth from his hand, he as glanced at Thor, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “Mind giving me a hand?”

The god shook his head at the weak jest and opened the kit. He shuffled through the contents, pulling out gauze pads, tape, and the ointment that he was told prevented infections. Seeing the wound as Stark dabbed it dry, he said, “That appears rather deep. Should you not consult with a physician? I have no set time for returning to Asgard, I could accompany you to the hospital.”

“Yeah, not happening. But, thanks. Maybe grab a couple of the butterfly bandages, though.” He smeared the ointment along the cut. Then, in a voice so low Thor could barely make out the words, he said, “…found out… would probably kill me first and ask questions later.”

“Someone has threatened you?” Thor asked, retrieving the specified bandages and opening them.

“Your brother.” Stark held his injured hand toward Thor, pinching the wound together with his other hand.

“Threatening to kill you after saving your life seems counterproductive,” Thor said, struggling with the sticky butterfly strips that tried to wrap around his own fingers while he applied them to Stark’s hand.

“Actually, the threat was to lock me up for my own good which sort of amounts to the same thing in my opinion.” Their eyes met, and Stark shot him a tense grin. “I don’t do well with captivity.”

“Most do not.” Seeing an opportunity to gauge his friend’s feelings regarding Loki, he added. “I suspect my brother would endeavor to make it a…pleasurable experience for you.”

“Well, I guess that answers the million dollar question of what you saw in the hospital. Just _how much_ did you see?”

“Enough,” he said, unable to help a small smirk, handing the inventor a gauze pad before beginning to cut strips of tape.

“You didn’t look real happy about it at the time.”

“I was…surprised,” Thor said, unwilling to admit to the odd sense of loss he had had at the time. Something in his voice must have betrayed him, however, as the inventor gave him a thoughtful look while Thor finished taping the gauze in place.

“Thanks,” Stark said, pulling his hand back to himself, flexing his fingers. “And now?”

“Clearly, you have my brother’s interest. If his intent is to court you, you have my full support.”

“Court me? Why the Hell would he be courting me? Before the hospital, I spent all of maybe two hours in his company, during which we had one conversation which consisted of threats and posturing and ended with me being thrown out a window and him taking a repulsor blast to the chest. What part of that says courtship potential?”

“You also fought me for him.”

“Are you telling me that there’s some cultural element here that I’m missing? Have I unknowingly declared myself an interested party?”

Thor laughed. “No, but connections are often formed in the unlikeliest of ways.”

Stark groaned.

“Do you find the idea disagreeable? From what I witnessed, you did not seem opposed.”

“Oh, sure, it’s all good. Aside from the voice in my head that tells me that what you’re suggesting would be a _very_ bad idea for several reasons, starting with Coulson and the invasion. And then there’s the guilt I start to feel at not feeling guilty about actually sort of _liking_ your brother because…well, let’s not go there because it I suspect it falls into the too much information category for you, but I will mention the need to get past me being an easily squished human and him being a Norse god with definite ideas on what is acceptable behavior for his mortal which don’t exactly align with how I live my life.” Tony finished, his voice edging into hysteria.

“He calls you his?”

“Not the point, Big Guy. _This is a very bad idea_.”

“Then console yourself with the knowledge that I may be wrong about his intentions. Perhaps he merely seeks to unsettle you. Or, perhaps, he seeks to manipulate you to achieve an unknown goal.”

“That’s hardly consolation, but he wouldn’t be the first.”

Thor caught hints of hurt and sorrow in the inventor’s voice and wished he could offer the man comfort or reassurance.

“How was your visit with Dr. Foster and Miss Lewis?” Stark asked, pulling a couple of sodas from the refrigerator and handing one to Thor.

“It was pleasant,” he said, accepting the change in topic.

“Pleasant?”

“Jane has begun dating someone new.”

Stark winced. “Ah, sorry, Big Guy. That’s never easy.”

“Indeed. We agreed to end our romantic relationship, but it is odd to think of her with someone else. I think I shall wait a while before visiting again.”

“And now you’re heading home?”

“Yes,” he said with a frown.

“All-Daddy still acting all squirrelly?”

Thor flinched at the casual name. “Yes. I cannot understand his reasoning. When the Bifröst was repaired, I had expected him to send me throughout the Nine to quell any unrest, but instead he sent me here. He even encouraged my suit with Jane. Had Loki not been locked in his cell, I would have thought it one of his tricks.” His hand tightened around his drink, denting the metal. “On my last return to Asgard, he offered me condolences for our ended courtship. Asgard’s forces are spread throughout the Realms, but he again insisted I remain on Midgard despite the growing chaos elsewhere.”

“Other than Loki, is there anyone on Asgard capable of putting a whammy on him?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“What’s your mom have to say about it?”

“She supports him, as always, but I see the uncertainty in her eyes.” He met the inventor’s gaze and with hesitance asked, “Tony, when you next see Loki, would you tell him I would appreciate his counsel on these matters?”

“When? Don’t you mean if?”

“I think we both know that he will visit you again at some point.”

“Can’t just let me live with my denial, can you?” The man sighed and pinched the bridge of nose. His voice and brown eyes filled with apology, he said, “Thor, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. When I mentioned you in the hospital, he looked pretty stabby.”

“I understand.” Disappointment settled in his gut, but he could hardly blame the man. He finished his drink and readied to take his leave. “Watch your back, my friend. Keep those you trust close. S.H.I.E.L.D. fears you, and fear can lead to rash actions.”

“Hmm, maybe they’re not as stupid as I thought.” Seeing the man’s smirk and the glimmer of mischief in his eyes, Thor could only shake his head with a smile of his own, but then the inventor’s expression shifted into something deeper and what he said next held a contemplative note. “Loki told me I should rethink my allies.”

“Truly?”

“Agents might have been shooting at us when he suggested it.” He shrugged and his tone was almost flippant, but his eyes had gone distant.

“They shot at you?” The god asked, drawing the man back into the present.

“Hard to say who the target was. Reindeer Games and I were standing pretty close at the time.”

Thor raised a brow and laughed at the blush that rose on the man’s cheeks.

“You know, never mind.” Stark gestured to the helipad. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”

Thor headed for the exit, Stark followed him.

At the threshold, Thor said, “I almost forgot to mention. Banner is on his way. He should be here in a couple of days.” The inventor brightened at the news. “If the All-Father has need of me elsewhere, I will return or send word. Otherwise, I plan to return in a week.”

“Sounds good, Fabio.”

Putting a hand on Stark’s shoulder, Thor looked down into the man’s brown eyes. “I do not believe Loki intends you harm, and I know you do not need me to warn you to be cautious, but have care in your dealings with him.”

The man reached up and patted Thor’s forearm. “If I think it won’t get me stabbed or tossed out another window, I’ll mention your request.”

“My thanks, my friend.” He smiled and gave the man’s shoulder a light squeeze. Then, feeling lighter in spirit than when he arrived, Thor went to the center of the helipad. Turning back to face his shield brother who remained in the doorway to watch his departure, Thor called for Heimdall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had wanted to post weeks ago, but this chapter gave me fits. It was not among my original drafts, but looking ahead, it needed to be here. Finding my Thor took a while, and then he didn't seem to want to stop talking. I'm still not entirely pleased with it, but my beta reader gave it two thumbs up (She may be biased.) and I'm tired of fiddling with it. I hope it meets with your approval.
> 
> As an aside, while looking into the location of the Triskelion, I discovered it sits on Theodore Roosevelt Island right on top of where HWY 66 runs in the real world. As if D.C. traffic isn't bad enough, apparently in the MCU there is one less road between the city and Virginia. Its location, however, means that it is a fairly easy walk to the National Mall which includes the Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument.
> 
> My thanks to those who have left kudos, bookmarked, and subscribed.
> 
> Loki returns in the next chapter which is drafted and waiting polish.


	4. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki calls upon Tony to begin collecting on his debt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my long absence. See my ramblings at the end of the chapter if you care to hear my excuses.
> 
> Important TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter - the middle third switches to Tony's POV and touches upon suicide. If this is a trigger for you, PLEASE skip back down to Loki's POV, and I will give a brief synopsis of what was covered in the chapter end notes. The change in POV is marked by a break in the text and ~~~~~~.

Yggdrasil shone around him, feeding his seiðr, and the symphony of the universe resonated within him, whispering of events within the Nine and beyond. The approaching Convergence, although months away, quickened the tempo and threw new notes into the swelling harmonies, making its murmured secrets difficult to comprehend but also illuminating new paths along the World Tree.

Focusing on a discordant note, Loki followed it to its origins and discovered a previously unknown branch leading out of Ginnungagap. Slender and weak, it was not a path he would travel unless necessity – desperation – forced his steps. He envisioned placing his hand upon it and listened to its distinct voice.

Nothing within its song spoke of threats to the Nine. It made no mention of the Titan’s movements. It gave no hint of the Infinity Stones’ location or that they moved.

It should have been comforting that all seemed peaceful.

It was not.

The Titan would not have been idle after the loss of the Chituari fleet, after the loss of the Mind and Space Stones when Loki slipped his grasp. No, he would have begun maneuvering his forces in search of the Stones and in his continued quest for ‘balance.’ And the Other…

Loki pulled his thoughts back from the Other with his promise of retribution and the possibility of hunters on their way to recapture him. Straightening, the god pinched the bridge of his nose and reminded himself, once again, that when the Other had plucked him from the Void, he had been mentally compromised, near dead, and drained of his magic. Any who came for him now would find a _very_ different God of Mischief than the one the Other had found. Although they would never know it, any who came for him now would have cause to be grateful should he grant them a quick death.

He lowered a shaking hand and curled it into a fist.

 _I will not be taken again,_ he promised himself, but the darkness that cradled Yggdrasil suddenly felt oppressive, and the discordant notes buried within the song of the Realms sounded of dark whispers and sibilant hisses that caused him to flinch and curl inward on himself. He abandoned his plans to visit Vanaheim and Alfheim and retreated to Midgard, the chaotic world that, ironically, soothed the chaos within him.

Safe within the rooms he had secured for himself, the creeping panic eased, and the god breathed easier. He waved away his armor then indulged in falling back on his bed, sprawling in an undignified manner with his arms cast out to the sides. Closing his eyes, he quieted his mind and settled within his seiðr, taking comfort from its restored strength, but his thoughts soon turned, as they all too often did of late, to Tony Stark.

The god tried to acknowledge and release thoughts of the mortal, to let them drift past his consciousness, but much like the man himself they refused to be dismissed and demanded attention. With a guttural sigh that conveyed his annoyance more adequately than any words even he could craft, he opened his eyes. Glaring at the ceiling, Loki considered killing the man and being done with it, but then he rolled his head to look at the window he had spelled to give him a view of Stark’s tower.

_No. Not yet._

The man was a plague to his peace, but until Loki understood the puzzle of Tony Stark, understood why he had been so driven to save him, he would not destroy him. No matter how annoying he found his fascination for the mortal to be. After all, he held no personal animosity toward the man.

Their interactions had been brief and limited during the invasion. Despite the attacks they had launched at each other, Loki had not considered Stark an enemy. The mortal had done what he had needed to defend his home as would be expected of any warrior.

The god respected that.

Until Thor had brought word of Stark’s impending death, Loki would have labeled the man an adversary at best? Worst? No matter. Loki’s words to the contrary to Thor and later to Stark himself, in a bid to play the role his not-brother expected and to unnerve the mortal, had been uttered to conceal his own confusion over why the man intrigued him when there was so little basis for it, why the thought of him dying had been so alarming. So much easier to allow them to believe he desired Stark’s death, but only on _his_ terms, as some sort of revenge for the thwarted invasion, although he had no such desire.

Not then, at least. The idea was gaining some small appeal.

Loki knew he had a tendency to be obsessive, but the objects of his fixation were just that – objects, not individuals, and certainly not mortals – which confounded the matter as to _why?_ Tony Stark had become an incessant itch, and the god did not understand why.

Yes, he found the mortal physically attractive. The deep gold of the honey Loki added to his tea often conjured thoughts of the man’s eyes with their amber flecks, and, yes, he appreciated the man’s tightly muscled frame. He liked the taste of him and the feel of him within his arms. He wanted more of both.

With a groan, the god closed his eyes. He raised an arm and tapped his forehead with a loose fist in a vain effort to dislodge such thoughts.

 _Oh, how the Norns must be laughing at me to wax on about a mortal like some besotted hero from one of Alfheim’s ballads, filled with soulmates or strings of fate drivel, as if such things exist. Of course, if they ever saw fit to cast me in such a role, it would no doubt be one of those epics of lovers doomed to a tragic end. As if death is somehow romantic rather than the grim, lonely, and grisly affair it often is. Perhaps, I should warn Stark,_ the god mused and smiled at the thought. _No, if in their twisted humor the Norns have such a weaving in mind, I prefer to drag my partner down with me. Better to burn together._

Truly though, it would be best to keep his distance from the man. It would not do to form an attachment to such a short-lived creature nor to encourage familiarity between them. Any continued association would lead to conflict with the Avengers and other Midgardians. And could lead to his own entrapment.

The realization that he did not group Stark among the Avengers and held him apart from other humans caused the god to frown, unsettled by this further evidence that he marked the man as separate and distinct among his kind. Special.

Rolling to his side, the god glared at his spelled window with its shining image of the mortal’s home and asked himself yet again, “ _Why?”_

Physical appeal aside, what was it that drew him to Stark?

Loki conceded that the man possessed greater than average intelligence.

He had demonstrated nerve and an openness to mischief.

The man had gifted him with his trust.

That alone was worth the price of his escape from Asgard, it was enough to cancel the debt, to consider it paid in full. Not that he would tell the mortal that. Better to let the man believe himself indebted and allow Loki to get what he wanted from him. Of course, that meant determining out what he wanted from Stark. And he simply did not know. Although…there was one thing Stark should be able to help him with. It would probably require a precise application of pressure and guile to get Stark to assist him with the matter, but Loki loved a challenge. And, maybe, in the process, he would learn what about Stark drew him or get beyond his fascination.

The god got to his feet and went to the spelled window. He grinned at seeing the penthouse Stark called home still alight despite the lateness of an hour.

In an instant, with an eagerness he would never admit to another and concealed by his seiðr, the god moved from his rooms to the Stark’s Tower. Other than the location, the scene that greeted his arrival in the mortal’s home was reminiscent of the one a week ago; the man stood before a wall of windows, staring outward, a glass held in one hand while the other worried at his chest.

“Sir, I believe your guest has arrived.”

Loki tensed at the sound of the soft, cultured voice, unable to identify its source.

“Show me,” Stark said without turning, and a sheet of light appeared over the window in front of him, whatever information it provided the man was unclear to the god. After giving it a quick look, the man turned and faced where Loki stood. “Thank you, J. You know what to do.”

“Yes, sir.” Came the compliant but disapproving response.

Releasing the magic that hid him, Loki stepped forward. “How?”

The mortal had the nerve to _tsk_ at him and wag a finger back and forth. “Surely you know that a magician never reveals his secrets.”

Loki scowled, and the man answered with a smirk. 

“Is your guardian calling for help?” he asked with derision.

“No, actually, the opposite,” Stark said to the god’s surprise. “Locking up shop. Making sure we won’t be interrupted. We didn’t really have time to chat last time. You know, I kind of expected you sooner.”

“I do have other interests.”

“But do any of them have my charming personality? Seriously though, I’m glad to hear you have other interests. Outside interests are important in a healthy relationship.” The man paused and pinned him with a look. “Taking over Earth isn’t one of those interests, is it?”

“Not at the moment,” Loki drawled.

“Good. That’s a bit of a relief.”

“What sort of relationship do you believe us to have, Stark?”

The man shrugged. “Damned if I know. You tried to kill me. We fought. I didn’t hold back, by the way. Not that I was trying to kill you, but I probably wouldn’t have lost sleep over it if I had.”

“Understandable.”

“Then you saved my life.” He frowned. “Possibly twice.”

“You forgot the kiss,” the god said, his tone light, teasing, unable to resist seeing how the man would respond to the reminder.

“Trust me. I haven’t,” Stark said, his voice lowering and heat shining in his eyes before continuing in easy manner. “And I believe it was kisses. Plural.”

“A couple of chaste pecks to start things hardly qualifies as a kiss.”

“While I appreciate a man with standards, I will have to disagree. Chaste pecks, as you call them, at the right time, and in the right place, can be devastating.” Stark’s eyes practically smoldered with promise, and the god found himself drawing nearer to the man.

“You think so.”

“I know so,” he said with some amusement. “And here we are. Drink?”

“Not tonight.”

Stark nodded and mirth shimmered in his eyes. “So, tell me, Reindeer Games-”

“Must you?”

“Oh, I most definitely must,” he said with a quick, wide grin. Then, with glass in hand he gestured back and forth between them. “What is this? Why?”

Loki almost threw the man’s words back at him – _Damned if I know_ – but hedged and said, “I believe I have already answered that question.”

“Can’t imagine life without me and want to kill me yourself,” Stark deadpanned.

Loki just smiled.

Stark considered him through narrowed eyes and rubbed at his chest.

“Does it pain you?” the god asked.

The man stilled.

“Your chest, Stark,” Loki said at the mortal’s clear confusion.

The man glanced down and seemed surprised to find his hand pressed to his sternum. “No,” he said. “Not at all. You did a damn fine job.”

Loki preened a bit then asked, “Do you miss it?”

“I…I feel better than I have in years.” The man’s measured response suggested his thoughts were running elsewhere. “Better than before it went in, but…it’s complicated. I don’t miss it, but it feels like something’s missing, something I…” His voice trailed off, and his thoughtful gaze shifted to the side, no longer focused on the god.

Irritated by the loss of the man’s attention, Loki asked the first thing that came to mind. “Do you ever sleep?”

The man blinked at him. “Rarely.”

“You mentioned dreams last time. Is that why?” the god asked, happy for the mortal’s returned attention. Seeing wariness shade the man’s brown eyes, he pressed the topic. “Tell me, Stark. What haunts your dreams and keeps you up at night?”

Stark laughed, but it was brittle. He took a step back, putting more space between them. “Somehow I don’t think letting you into my psyche is a good idea. So I’ll pass on the offer to share.”

“Consider it partial payment of your debt,” Loki bit out, gripped by a sudden determination to gain insight into the man’s mind.

Stark hesitated.

In that moment, Loki saw the man’s need to discharge his debt, but in the blink of an eye, his demeanor changed. The look in his eyes became calculating, and his smile sharpened. A predator and skilled negotiator used to getting his way rose to the surface, sending a shiver of anticipation and appreciation through the god.

“What part of my debt would you consider cancelled out?” the man asked, setting aside his drink.

“The secret.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so. Not without more information,” the mortal purred as he stalked closer to the god. “I mean, what if the royal secret is something like all of the royal jewels were pawned and replaced with fakes? A slight embarrassment should that be revealed hardly seems like an equivalent exchange for a glimpse into the dark side of my mind. At potential vulnerabilities.”

Loki ground his teeth, grudgingly conceding the point, even as he thrilled at being challenged.

“Or maybe,” the man said, standing within arm’s reach now. “It’s something I already know…like how you intentionally flubbed the invasion.”

Something in his expression must have betrayed him because Stark smirked.

“I knew it. I want that story later.”

“Are you sure you want to be further in my debt, Stark?”

“It’s not something you would share over the drink I owe you?” the man asked with a near pout.

“Your nightmares, Stark.”

“Not without knowing what I’m paying for, Maleficent.”

Seeing the hard look in the man’s eyes and the determined jut of his jaw, Loki decided to try another tact. “Fine. Perhaps then you would consider a less personal price.”

“I’m listening,” he said, suspicion writ clear upon his face.

“The scepter.”

“I don’t have it.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “I am aware of that. But, you could locate it.”

“And why would I do that?” Stark snapped. “Do you really think I would put that thing back in your hands?”

“Do you really believe that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands are any safer?” The god sneered. “Please, Stark. You know what they were doing with the Tesseract. The heart of the scepter is of similar power. Do you believe they will have the wisdom to lock it away and leave it be?”

Stark scowled and raked a hand through his hair.

Seeing doubt in the man’s eyes, Loki closed the space between them, forcing the man to tip his head back to maintain eye contact. Softly, almost gently, he pushed at the uncertainty and worry. “Do you believe them capable of keeping it safely hidden from the force that would reclaim it?”

Stark tensed. “The one that sent you?”

Loki nodded, willing to give a morsel of information in the interest of greater gain.

Stark’s eyes went distant. He looked haunted, and the god began to suspect some part of what dwelt in the man’s nightmares. Then, the genius shook his head and returned to the moment. “And what would you do with it, Rock of Ages? I thought you had no global domination plans. Or would that change?”

“I would take it elsewhere and your world would have one less temptation.”

To his surprise, he found no hint of disbelief in Stark’s steady gaze. Still, the man turned and began to pace. Loki watched in silence, leaving him to his thoughts. Whichever Stark chose – dreams or scepter – he would take one as recompense now and claim the other at another time.

He stopped and faced Loki. With unease in his eyes but a steady voice, he said, “This is between us. It’s personal. I won’t involve anyone else in it. The scepter is off the table.”

The god allowed himself a pleased smile. “Your dreams then, Stark. Tell me.”

“Your secret first,” the man countered, crossing his arms.

With a couple of long strides, Loki closed the space between them, and his hand went to the mortal’s neck, close enough to feel the heat of him but not making contact. “I could just kill you.”

“You could,” the man said in a tone of cold steel as he moved forward, stepping into contact with Loki’s hand. His pulse beat steady under the god’s touch. “But then you would gain nothing for all of your time and effort. Seems like a waste.” In a near whisper, the man coaxed, “Come one, Mischief. How awful could it be?”

~~~~~

It took everything Tony had to not flinch at the raw rage in Loki’s eyes, as the god’s hand left his neck and swung out to the side, and he snarled, “Fine. Look upon the shame of Asgard.”

Tony followed the motion of the god’s hand and watched an image appear. He grit his teeth and swallowed hard as he saw just how bad it could be.

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck._

He approached the illusion: a bloodied figure, slumped against a white wall.

Loki. Definitely Loki. But with blue skin covered in an almost artistically arranged pattern of lines, possibly ridges, Tony would have to be able to touch them to know for sure, and red eyes. Those details, while intriguing, and distantly noted as beautiful under other circumstances, weren’t what held the engineers attention. It was the god’s arms and feet.

Loki’s arms, from the interior of his elbow to his wrist, were… shredded. They looked like chopped meat. The tops of his feet didn’t look any better, and seeing the blood pooled under them, Tony, for the first time, considered how many veins sit just below the skin’s surface of the feet.

Nausea rolled through him, and he was glad that he had had no more than a swallow or two of his drink before Loki arrived; he doubted vomiting would endear him to the god. At the same time, he needed for a drink, maybe a whole bottle, or two, because he has been in that place where the idea of slicing himself open and letting the pain of life bleed out and carry him to oblivion has been…appealing, and, once, he had succumbed to the aching need.

The genius had called the god a diva, but the image Loki presented went far beyond a flair for dramatics.

Tony couldn’t shake the familiarity of it, the feeling that it was so much more.

It screamed of desperation and a soul deep pain. It cried anguish.

He feared that it spoke of a true desire for an end, and he looked to the god to reassure himself that Loki still stood there. Alive. Whole, at least, physically. Unmistakably tense, however, and paler than normal. His gaze not once falling upon his illusory self.

Struggling for neutral tone, Tony said, “I have questions.”

Loki gave him a stiff nod to proceed.

He looked aside and ran a hand across his mouth, debating the best way to proceed, then looked back at the illusion.

Where should he start? How best to pose his questions without getting himself killed for the asking?

“Alright, one,” he said, meeting the god’s gaze. “When Thor’s has a few too many and rambles about you being adopted, he doesn’t mention that you are a different race.”

“I’m not sure where the question is in that, Stark, and I am hardly surprised that Thor hasn’t mentioned it. Frost Giants are brutal creatures. Tales of them are told to threaten children into their best behavior. Thor himself, as a child, planned on eradicating them.”

“And you’re a Frost Giant?”

Loki sneered. “And your planet hails you as a genius. Yes, Stark, I am, although technically the term is Jotun.”

“Uh-huh. And this look?” He gestured to the god.

“A glamour, at first, courtesy of the All Father since I was an infant. Something else now.”

Stark looked at him incredulously. “You’re kidding.” At the god’s level look, the engineer continued, “Since you were an infant? When did you…”

“Find out? Discover the unpalatable lies of the All-Father?”

Tony could only nod in the face of the venomous gaze directed at him.

“Shortly before I invaded this miserable world,” he spit.

Before the invasion. _Shortly before_.

Conversations with Thor replayed on high speed through Tony’s mind. Cryptic remarks took on new meaning as pieces fell together to create a picture that made Tony want to punch someone as he looked at the illusory corpse again. Feeling cold and sick, the genius wrapped his head around the idea that the God of Mischief, who stood behind him and practically vibrated with contained emotion, had attempted to kill himself by letting go and falling from the Bifrost, and then in a bid for freedom, escape from his cell, he had appeared to have made another attempt. One that could not be brushed off as anything other than what it was. One that could not be concealed with clever rewording to transform it into an accidental end, and, apparently, no one in Asgard had given a damn.

“Three days,” Tony said, his voice little more than a dry croak as he recalled what Loki had said in the hospital. He looked to the god for confirmation. “You…held this” – he gestured to the illusion – “together for three days.”

Loki nodded.

“They knew from the beginning. Saw this from day one.”

“Yes, Stark,” the god said, the edge in his voice warning that there was a limit to the questions he would answer. “The guards saw it shortly after its creation, although it began in a fresher state.”

Tony’s reeled at the implication, although he shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course the Trickster God would pay attention to detail. “And they…”

The god’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “Brought me my meals on schedule.”

“Thor?”

“Here. With you,” the god replied with a faint crinkling of his brow and a tilt of his head as if unsure of why Tony mentioned the other god.

The genius, however, merely nodded. He’d grown fond of the God of Thunder. There was more to him than probably most would suspect, more than Tony had originally thought to find. But, if he had ignored Loki’s apparent second attempt to end his own life after witnessing the first, Tony would have been having another knockdown-drag-out fight, another forest leveling conversation. You just didn’t do that to someone you claimed to love, to dote on. Remembering the one person Thor said had shared his grief, Tony asked in a choked voice, “Your mother?”

“The guards told Odin,” he said, his voice precise and crisp, but when he continued, Tony saw the crack in his mask and heard the pain in his voice. “When she learned of…She is the one who came for me in the end.”

“This is an illusion?”

The god’s mask reformed, and he gave the genius a level look.

“It’s the same as in your cell? The same as Stuggart? The same as those Thor tells me he falls for repeatedly?”

“Yes.”

“The same kind of magic?”

“Yes, Stark. It is the same in all ways. Is there a point to this?”

Seeing the god’s rising irritation, Tony held up a placating hand. “Please. I am going somewhere with this.”

A muscle along the god’s jaw ticked. “Proceed.”

“Right.” Tony nodded. With a grim look he walked to the table and picked up a sandstone coaster. “Other than location, is there anything different about this construct from the one in your cell?”

“Some of the blood on Asgard’s floor was mine, but fundamentally they are the same.” The god bit out with a frown.

Tony tossed the coaster at the illusory corpse. He heard the coaster hit the marble floor and watched the image flicker and disappear at the contact. “Would your blood have kept it from doing that?”

“No,” the god said, his eyes fixed on the now empty space.

“And no one could be bothered to do something as simple as that to see if you were dead or not?”

“No.”

Seeing the devastation on the Loki’s face, Tony wanted to cross to him and hug him tight. He suspected the god wouldn’t want his sympathy, however, and would see it instead as pity. So, he’d give the god something else. He’d give him his rage. He waited until the Trickster met his gaze, and then growled, “What the fuck is wrong with Asgard? If there’s any truth to you bringing about Ragnorak, I’d say the bastards had it coming.”

~~~~~

Loki drew in a sharp breath at Stark’s words and yet felt as if the air had been stolen from the room at the sight of the rage smoldering in the man’s eyes. And his words. The man’s words were a balm to the god, and he clung to them. To have someone enraged on his behalf. To look as if they would take on Odin himself for him. It was a heady sensation, and the god forced it aside for the moment, needing to remain focused on the purpose of his visit.

“I have revealed my secret, Stark. It is time for you to do the same.”

Stark’s expression went flat. With lowered eyes, he walked past Loki to the bar. With his back to the god, he poured a fresh drink but made no move to drink.

“Stark?”

“I can’t.”

“Stark,” the god growled, warning heavy in his voice.

“No. Look. Really. I _can’t._ ” The man turned and met the god’s eyes. “You’re asking me to tell you something that I’ve told no one. That I’ve never put into words. I don’t even talk to a shrink.” Stark ran a shaking hand through his hair. “And what if you don’t think it’s a fair price? What then?”

Loki would have accused the man of stalling if not for the edge of panic in the genius’s voice and the clear signs of distress the god could see from the man’s pale complexion to his refusal to make eye contact and tremors of his hands. “I am willing to take that gamble.”

The genius winced and averted his gaze. He wiggled his fingers near his temple. “Can you do some sort of Vulcan mind meld or use a pensieve?”

“I have no idea what those are, Stark.”

Shooting him a look of frustration, Stark ground out, “Can’t you just pull them from my head?”

“You would allow me such… _intimacy_?” the god asked, allowing his voice to drop low and suggestive as he tasted the last word.

“Do you have to be an ass about this?”

“Yes, I think I must.”

“Can you or not?”

“I can. Are you not worried that I may take more than the agreed price? What happened to not revealing you psyche?”

“You seem like someone who keeps his word. If you tell me that you will only look at my nightmares, then I will trust you to do nothing more than that.”

Stunned as the man once again offers him trust, the god wondered, _Is he cunning or a fool?_ The god nodded his acceptance and crossed to the mortal. “And I will trust you not to hold back on the horrors that haunt you.”

“You may regret it.”

“Do you regret knowing my secret?”

“No.”

Stark stood backed against the bar. His hands gripped the edge, and he closed eyes as Loki raised a hand to place the tip of two fingers to man’s temple.

Feeling unexpected respect for the mortal who once again faced him without armor, who swallowed down any fear or unease he felt to meet his obligations, the god spoke in a hushed tone, “Think of the nightmares, Stark. Let them come to the surface of your thoughts. I will delve no deeper.”

His magic brushed against the man’s turbulent thoughts. While he lacked the context to understand some of the images, but he understood the emotions they fed.

Fear.

Pain.

Betrayal.

The insertion of the device that guarded his heart.

Having it ripped out by a father figure.

Paralysis.

Suffocation.

First, water.

Then, the void.

The endless expanse.

The crushing weight of the emptiness of space mated to the numerous terrors that traversed it.

All accompanied by a chorus of derision, judgement, and self-doubt.

All of it, agonizingly familiar.

Shaken and uncertain of how much time had passed, Loki emerged from the montage of vision and sensation to the feel of Stark’s hands gripping his hips and the press of the man’s head to his chest. The fingers he had placed at Stark’s temple now carded through the mortal’s hair while his other arm wrapped around the man’s shoulders and held him near, murmuring small nonsensical sounds of comfort to the genius. Shivering tremors moved through the mortal’s frame. Loki spoke his name, but the man made no response, seemingly still trapped within his thoughts.

Adjusting his hold on the mortal, Loki leaned down until his cheek rested near the Stark’s temple. The god breathed a soft, magic infused word, and the man slackened within Loki’s waiting arms.

“Mr. Odinson, I must insist you tell me what you have done to Mr. Stark.”

The god’s jaw clenched at the form of address. “Simply Loki, if you please. Friggason, if you must. A simple enchantment to give him dreamless sleep.”

“I see,” Stark’s guardian stated. “What is the duration of the…enchantment?”

The god straightened, pulling his mortal closer in the process. “That would depend on his need for rest. When did he last sleep?”

“Sir has been awake for the past thirty-five hours and twenty-four minutes and had slept for three hours and forty-seven minutes at that time.”

Loki scowled at the information. _That can be neither normal nor healthy._ “You fool,” he muttered near the mortal’s ear. “I told you to have care with your wellbeing”

“Sir?”

“I suspect he will sleep for at least eight hours. Possibly more if the information you have provided is typical of him.”

“Very well, sir. And what are your intentions now, Mr. Friggason?”

The thought of taking the insensate genius with him crossed Loki’s mind, but reason overwrote the impulse, stemming the tide of chaos that course of action would likely have unleash. “If you will direct me, I will take Stark to his quarters and then depart.”

“Perhaps it would be best, sir, to leave Mr. Stark on the sofa.”

The god eyed the furniture in question. It did not look uncomfortable, but he certainly would not elect to sleep there if offered an alternative. “Would not his bed be preferable?”

“Under other circumstances, I would concur with your assessment. However, as I am uncertain how Mr. Stark would feel with about granting you access to his bedroom, I do believe the sofa remains the best choice.”

Loki reconsidered the idea of taking Stark with him and dealing with the inevitable fallout when the man woke.

“I assure you, Mr. Friggason, it will not be the first time that Mr. Stark has slept on the sofa nor is it likely be the last.”

Loki scowled but gathered his magic around himself and Stark and, with a swirl of green and gold, traversed the short distance to the sofa. He lowered to the mortal onto it. He stood over the man. Studied him. Struggled again to understand what drew him to the Midgardian hero even as his fingers twitched with the urge to sweep the man’s hair back from his forehead. Struggled with an unexpected reluctance to leave.

With a frown, the god withdrew a step, putting space between himself and temptation. His voice little more than a whisper, Loki bid Stark farewell – “Until next time” – then left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, if you bypassed Tony's portion:  
> Loki showed Tony the illusion he cast as part of his escape from Asgard. Tony remembered his own suicidal thoughts and one previous attempt. After confirming that the illusion was of the same nature as Loki's others and easily disrupted by physical contact, Tony, irate with Asgard and their callous disregard of Loki's apparent suicide, told Loki that if there was any truth to the prophecy of Loki bringing Ragnarok, Asgard deserved to burn.
> 
> Now, for my excuses, aside from traveling (NYC, saw Betrayal, it was awesome!), more than one round of illness, holiday chaos, parenting struggles, resuming Japanese class, and an oak tree falling and essentially staking a family vehicle with a branch straight down through the windshield (no one was hurt, thankfully), I lost the notebook that has my drafts for this story. I found the notebook this last week, so here we are. I have begun typing everything to avoid that particular issue, but there are gaps in the narrative that need to be filled and may cause delays now and again.


	5. Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ancient One, J.A.R.V.I.S., and Fury - their thoughts on Tony and the current situation

The Ancient One stood on the roof of the New York City Sanctum and surveyed the surrounding city. Her gaze swept up to the barely discernable scar where the portal had opened and then dropped to the tower that stood beneath it. The source of her unease rested there. Clasping her hands behind her, she permitted herself one tight-lipped sigh.

“Loki has returned,” Wong said as he came to stand by her side.

“Yes.”

“He worries you?”

"Not overmuch. While his motives remain unclear, he is in control of himself this time. Whatever his plans, I do not foresee needing to intercede.”

While she had not met either of the Asgardians, she preferred the God of Mischief to the God of Thunder. For all Loki was ascribed dominion over elements of Chaos, his power was deep and still, a reservoir of untold depths. Even during the battle of New York, with another power tainting his own, the God of Mischief’s power remained contained with only small choppy waves disturbing the surface.

The God of Thunder on the other hand was a maelstrom in a teacup; his moods disrupted not only weather patterns but the flow of Earth’s dimensional energies, despite some small settling of his power since his first appearance in New Mexico. She would have been well pleased had he never set foot on Earth during her long life.

What drew her to the rooftop on this night, however, was a different power, one with Earthly origins, a reassuring, white-blue glow that had hummed in her awareness for a couple of years.

When it had first appeared, it had been simple work to discern that Tony Stark was the source. When it had disappeared a couple of weeks ago, she had felt a deep pang of loss, for he had proven to be Earth’s greatest defense against physical threats and had no heir to take his place. Initially, learning that Stark had survived the attack on him and his home was a balm to her troubled spirit.

But, now…

Now, she studied the man’s Tower, feeling him within it, with a sense of foreboding.

The power within him still burned, reminding her of a glowing ember hidden within the leaf litter of a forest, alternately dimming and brightening, and, depending on the conditions, it would either burn itself out or flair to consume all in its path.

_It bears watching._

~~~~~

J.A.R.V.I.S. monitored his creator, using every sensor at his disposal to gather data.

If asked, he would confirm that, overall, Mr. Stark’s health had improved with the arc reactor no longer in place. He would not reveal his concern that, despite these improvements, something was wrong with his maker; the data was too nebulous. An accumulation of anomalies that pointed to nothing concrete. Were he human, the A.I. would have called it a hunch and might have remarked on it.

Instead, he remained silent and continued to watch.

~~~~~

Fury wasn’t sure at what point his fear _for_ Tony Stark became outweighed by his fear _of_ him. At what point had his need to protect and guide his friend’s son turned into a need to collar and control him? At what point had his dread of a headline announcing Tony’s death as a result of his hedonistic, self-destructive lifestyle transformed into wariness with each new announcement of a technological breakthrough or business acquisition, cementing the reality of Anthony Edward Stark being a global power all on his own?

Others might downplay Stark’s genius and business acumen. They might point to those around him instead, but what those people forgot was that Stark has assembled that team over the years, starting with Potts. With the death of Stane and the cleaning house that followed within Stark Industries and its Board, S.I. was more Tony’s creation than it had ever been Howard’s.

He had been planning to approach Stark about the Avengers Initiative before Afghanistan. He had wanted to bring him on as a consultant and designer for the eventual team and, by extension, S.H.I.E.L.D. He’d had visions of Tony creating armor for the world to protect against extraterrestrial threats.

Now though, as much as he and S.H.I.E.L.D. needed the man and his resources, he wasn’t sure that Stark wasn’t the real threat to the world and all Fury valued.

A small voice in his head acknowledged the half-wish that Stark had died.

No doubt wresting tech from S.I. would have been a challenge, but there would have been peace of mind that now felt forever out of reach.

The thought of Stark and Loki in anything other than an antagonistic relationship scared the Hell out of him. Just the thought of the tech genius and “the greatest sorcerer in the Nine Realms”, per Thor, working together overwhelmed Fury to the point of being unable to form coherent thoughts. What they could do together…It was simultaneously beyond his imagining and felt all too real. His instincts screamed to take the defensive which meant going on the offensive, so he had sought to end what might not have even begun by isolating Stark to gauge what influence Loki might have over the man.

In retrospect, it had backfired spectacularly.

He still had no idea what the god wanted from the genius. Had no idea if Stark was receptive to Loki’s scheme or playing a game he was childishly not sharing with Fury and the team.

Banner had departed for the Tower. While Fury was happy to have the scientist near and know his location, he knew he had almost no leverage or hold on the man who was now under Stark’s protection.

Fury hadn’t realized that Thor and Stark had formed anything more than a working relationship, but the god had only reluctantly agreed to Stark’s being under surveillance because of his concern for his shield brother and the possibility that Loki might want to involve him in some scheme or meant to harm him. Faced with the god’s clear regret for going along with the plan, Fury knew he had jeopardized relations with the god and Asgard. Rectifying the situation was not going to be easy, especially with the second Prince of Asgard being at the heart of the matter.

Cap was clearly suffering from sort of existential crisis, judging from the almost constant crease in between his brows and the slight pout he wore these days.

Romanov remained stony and silent. Fury couldn’t say if the air of disapproval around her was real or his projecting. He suspected that she agreed with Barton that putting them all in the Tower with Stark would have been the better plan with the potential of “putting an arrow through the bastard’s eye” should Loki make a move as an added bonus.

Loki having aided Stark’s return to the Tower, followed by a suspected, but as of yet unconfirmed, visit with the genius within 24 hours of Thor returning to Asgard had been the last straw for the archer.

Fury touched the letter on his desk.

Barton had resigned. Effective immediately.

The letter was professional, but Fury read between the lines and saw the “screw you, screw magic” in the man’s eyes when he had wished him “good luck with that.”

A knock on the door roused him from his musings.

“Come in.”

Agent Hill entered his office and stood at parade rest in front of his desk, awaiting his further acknowledgement.

“Agent Hill.”

“We have reports of what appears to be a coordinated attack on an abandoned oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.”

“Attack by who?”

“War Machine and more than one Iron Man unit.”

“Do we know their objective?”

“No, but it’s likely related to the Mandarin and Killian.”

Fury closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Monitor the situation and get Stark on the phone.”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched her leave then turned his chair to look out the window.

He should have known that Stark wouldn’t stay grounded for long. That he wouldn’t take the opportunity to bow out of the superhero gig. He should have known that he would be flying with his own agenda, keeping S.H.I.E.L.D. out of the loop.

He wished Stark was someone else’s problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter. The next will likely be longer with the battle at the rig and Bruce arriving at the Tower. (I dread writing the action sequence. I plan to re-watch Iron Man 3 beforehand to help get in the mindset.)
> 
> The Ancient One is one of my favorite characters. I can't say how much of a role she will have, but she will be making other appearances later in the story.
> 
> Wishing you all good health and peace of mind.


End file.
